So, let go
Just get in
Oh, it’s so amazing here
It’s all right
‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown

"Let Go" by Frou Frou

I know I’m a good artist. I don’t question that.

It’s not being egotistical—I just know that I’m better than pretty much anyone else from my class at PIFA. The thought keeps coming back to me as I flip through my old class projects, sorting through what I want to put in my portfolio. I stop on the series I was working on for my final project at PIFA. The work I tried to hand in to Professor McPhearson when I told him that I was leaving to go to LA. I figured I could finish off the project and they’d let me skip the rest of the classes.

No such luck. He’d looked at me like I was crazy, and then told me he was disappointed in me. He told me that he’d planned on giving me a full scholarship for my final year. That he was going to sponsor me for the school’s Emerging Artists competition, and even though I’d be competing against older students with more experience, that he knew I’d win.

He told me that if I forgot about Hollywood and completed my academic career, that I’d be an artist one day. A real artist. Selling my work and getting commissions and that I could probably even make a living, just off my art.

But he said I needed discipline, I needed guidance, that I was too impulsive and I followed my heart much more frequently than my head. He said he’d mentor me and that he’d reign me in and teach me to be structured, and he’d support me the way that he felt I needed to be supported.

I think that was about when I stood up and told him that I didn’t need support from anyone, that I definitely wasn’t impulsive, that I knew I was good, and that no matter what he said, I was an artist already. I think I told him I didn’t need the school’s approval for my work. That I didn’t need to win any stupid competition to know I was the best, that I didn’t need reigning in, and that I definitely didn’t need anyone telling me what to do because *I* was the only person I needed to answer to

I suppose I didn’t really convince him that I wasn’t impulsive.

But I don’t care. I know Brian wants me to go back to school, but there’s nothing there for me. So I get a diploma. So what? That’s not going to prove anything.

I pick up one of my pieces and study it. I spent hours—days—on this one. Right after all that shit with Cody and Hobbes. I still get that dark, sick feeling in my stomach when I see it.

*This* will prove anything I need to prove. My art speaks for itself. I know that.

I guess I just have to find someone to listen.

I hear the door slide open and am surprised that it’s the end of the day already. I glance at the clock in the kitchen and see it’s past dinnertime, feel my stomach growl as if on cue.

Brian slides up behind me, wrapping his arms around me. He’s been so affectionate since I came home from LA. I think I scared him a little—I think maybe he believed that I was really gone for good.

And if I was honest, a part of me thought maybe I was gone for good too. I just wish that he would’ve come with me. That he’d at least visited me once, to see how amazing it is there. Maybe he would’ve wanted to move to LA, and we could’ve stayed there together.

I squeeze his hand in mine at the thought and close my eyes.

I’m done with here, with this place, with Pittsburgh. But I’m definitely not done with him. With Brian. With what we can do together.

He flips through a few of my pieces and tells me how good they are—it’s funny, a year ago I would’ve jumped at that. Now it just reaffirms what I already know.

He starts in a little about school... to his credit, it’s been ten days and he hasn’t mentioned it once. When he does mention it, it’s almost cautiously. He doesn’t push me, like he used to. It makes me feel... good. It makes me feel like he knows that when I came to live with him this time, it was different. I’m a man now, not a teenager. I can make my own decisions and though I appreciate his opinion... that’s all it is. His opinion.

And like I knew he would, he offers me a job at Kinnetik, and like *he* knew *I* would, I turn it down. I love that he asked, but it’s not for me. I need to find my own way now, and I think we both know that.

Well, I tried. I admit I kinda wanted to have him around the office, have him there every day, to share morning coffees and secret afternoon fucks in the boardroom...

But...

He’s right. I can’t push him to do what I want. He’s here, in my home... in *our* home, and that’s all I really need right now. I’ll just give him time... that’s all *he* really needs right now.

I drop the subject of school and work and moan about *my* shit, my stupid mistake, buying Babylon. It disappoints me, because out of everything I thought I could do in my life, running a nightclub was something that should’ve been easy for me. I grew up in fucking nightclubs—I hit Babylon for the first time at 18, and haven’t stopped going since.

Christ, *that* sounds pathetic.

I stop the self-pity, listening to Justin instead and he gives me an idea that of course makes perfect sense. I’m in advertising—I know all about making things seem like something they’re not.

“Sunshine, how did I ever get along without you?” I cup his face in my palms.

He doesn’t miss a beat: “You didn’t.”

And damn, if he isn’t just a little bit right.

We kiss and thoughts of Babylon quickly flutter away... he gives me his little smile, and I push him a few steps closer to the bed, his hands curve over my ass and he squeezes my butt lightly. Kisses down my throat, my chest, pushing open my shirt, and I shrug it off my shoulders, hear it fall to the ground behind me. My belt quickly undone, pants fall to the floor, and then I’m naked, and he’s on his knees in front of me.

He looks up at me, his blue eyes dancing, glinting in the low light of the room, highlighting the grin creeping up his face. I smile back at him, and palm the back of his neck as he leans forward and wraps his fingers around my cock, bringing me to his lips.

He takes me deep inside him, his mouth, his throat, so wet and warm. I whisper his name softly, didn’t mean to, but I did, and his hands wrap around my hips, pulling me closer as he sucks me slowly. He’s not even trying to get me off, just making me feel good...

“I can assure you...” I say, sighing as he takes me into his throat again. “That I *definitely* didn’t... get along... without... this...” I twist my fingers up into his hair and follow his head, watching as his cheeks hollow out and his lips slide up and down my dick. Goddamn... he’s beautiful.

He slows down, then eases off, letting me fall from his lips. Rubs my dick on his cheeks, leaving trails of spit and pre-cum on his skin, smiles up at me.

“C’mere,” I say and pull him to his feet, kissing him lightly then easing him back onto the bed. “We haven’t nearly made up for all our lost time.”

He laughs and reaches to unbutton his jeans but I smack his hand away and unbutton them for him, unzipping him slowly and dragging his jeans and underwear down off his hips.

“There are months to make up for,” I say, pulling his shirt up over his head. He climbs up higher on the bed, lying on his back. “Hundreds of fucks.”

“Uh hunh,” he takes his dick between his fingers and strokes himself lightly. I stare at him for moments, mesmerized, watching his blond lashes close over his eyes, his tongue darting out onto his lip, his cock sliding up through his fist and back down again.

I straddle his hips and sit up on him, bumping his hand with my dick. He gets the hint and takes me as well, adding his other hand so he can grip both of us, hold our cocks together in his in palms, skin to skin, pressed so tight. I lean over him a little, rocking my hips against his pelvis. Christ, this feels good. He rubs his thumb over the head of my dick on the upstroke, sliding over both our cocks, smearing our pre-cum into our slits. Sharing and mixing up together, and the thought of fucking him raw flits in and out of my brain. No... maybe... one day...

He arches beneath me, his hands moving faster, head tilting back on the bed. He looks close—too close, and I cover his hands with mine, slowing him down... he squeezes me tightly in his grip and I grunt out a little, feel him pulsing beside me... God, I could come like this too. But I have this feeling inside... need something more... something... different...

“Not yet,” I whisper, and lean over to the side table to grab a condom and lube. He stops moving his hands, just holds us both tightly together, pressed against his warm palms until I pull his fingers off us and he reluctantly lets go. He reaches out for the condom to put it on me, but I don’t give it to him, just slide back down his hips a little and tear the top off the package with my teeth. His hand drops to the sheets and he tilts his head to the side, a questioning smile on his face.

His eyes follow my hand as I reach for him, take him between my fingers and press the condom onto the head of his dick, rolling it down quickly. The effect is immediate, his back arches and he reaches for my thighs, grabbing me tightly.

His mouth opens, like he’s going to say something, but he sucks in a gasp instead and breathes out my name as he exhales. I love hearing that, missed hearing that... I squirt some lube into my palm, taking him in my hand and smearing the gel over his condom-covered cock, stroking him softly.

He’s really hard already and doesn’t need the encouragement—I just like to watch the look on his face. He looks at me dizzily, grinning, his tongue sliding across dry lips.

I sit up and inch forward, reaching behind me to take his dick in my fingers, rubbing his cockhead with my thumb, then position him at my asshole, pressing against that first ring of muscle.

“Oh God,” is all he says, and I catch up both his slim wrists in my free hand, capturing him, holding him. I suck in a breath and let it out slowly, pressing down and feeling his cock slide inside me as I do. Inch by inch, breath by breath, easing him into me, letting him fill up all those places that felt empty.

He pulls in long slow breaths, and I know he’s resisting the urge to push his hips up into me. He’s fucked me before—and I’ve watched him fuck plenty of times. He’s not very patient. But this way I’ll make him patient. He knows this too, been riding my cock enough lately to know the kind of control it gives you, sitting up like this, controlling the penetration, the speed, the intensity.

I let go of his wrists and thread my fingers between his, resting our hands on my thighs. He smiles at me, an open-mouthed grin, a little laugh from his throat... his cheeks are flushed and his forehead is shiny with sweat and he looks so incredibly fucking happy. I love that something I’m doing is making him this happy.

I grin a little and squeeze his fingers tightly as I feel his pubes on my ass and his warm thighs beneath mine... his cock completely inside me... I wait for the pinch and burn to fade and make way for... oh... God... *that*... that rush, that push, that feeling of fulfillment, of being fucked, of having him inside me. I wanted him inside me. Wanted to take him inside, and I feel him, hot and thick and filling me up.

I ease up a little, then back down again, closing my eyes against the wave of pleasure that cuts through me, the heat in my groin, the pressure inside me. Do it again and feel that slide inside, that deep ache that hurts so good... I let my mouth drop open, and ride him slowly, feeling hot everywhere, sweat pushing out and slicking my skin. God, I always forget how good it feels to have cock up your ass.

He raises his hips a little, pushing up into me, and between us we start to fuck in earnest, hard, then harder, till it’s a smack of damp skin on skin. I take his hand from my thigh and wrap it around my cock and once he starts jacking me off, once he starts making those noises in his throat, once he pulls himself up to kiss me... hard... on the lips, pushing his cock even further inside...

Once all of that, once all of everything happens all at once... I come into his hand, waves of it, so different, so complete, so full...

He falls back to the bed, my come splattered on his stomach and jerks his hips up into me, pushing hard till he just stops and gasps and gasps for breath, releasing inside me... a few last shudders and I slide off him, pulling the condom off his dick and tossing it aside, then lying down on the cool sheets.

He lies on his back beside me, catching his breath, and neither one of us say anything... the silence is comforting and surrounds us... holds us here in this bed, in this room... I lie here and remember the feeling of his cock in my ass, listen to him breathe and hear the gurgle of his hungry stomach. Smell the scent of him in this bed, feel him beside me.

He rolls onto his side and I tip my head towards him... he runs his finger in my drying come on his stomach and slides it into his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. He does it again, but before he can lick it off, I take his hand and bring it to my lips, sucking his finger into my mouth.

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and smiles, inching closer to kiss me. And then we do kiss and his tongue laps inside my mouth, his lips slide against mine, and it’s slow and perfect and then we’re just lying in each other’s arms, cheeks pressed together, his breath fading out across my skin.

“You sure you have to go to Babylon tonight?” he asks. “We could just stay home and order take out and watch shitty reality TV.” He laughs a little at the end.

I drag my hand up his arm, and lean over to the bedside table to grab my cigarettes, lighting one up. “As much as I’d like to... I’ve gotta go watch another eight grand go up in smoke.”

“It’s not that bad,” he rolls his head on the pillow and looks at me, heavy blond lashes covering his eyes. “Is it?”

I shake my head slowly. “It’s almost worse,” I say and pass him the cigarette and he takes a drag. “Wanna come with?”

“Of course. If the ship’s going down tonight, the captain’s gonna need his first mate to go down on *him*,” he grins and kisses me wetly on the lips.

“First mate, hunh?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

He nods against the pillow. “Yup.”

“Will you wear those tight little pants?” I stick my tongue between my teeth, grinning.

He laughs and smacks me on the side. “In your dreams,” he chuckles, then climbs out of bed and heads towards the bathroom.

“Justin,” I call out his name to stop him.

“Yeah?” he turns and looks at me, skin flushed and shining.

I look down, then back up at him again. “I think I like ‘partner’ better,” I smile a little and watch as his face breaks into a grin.

“Yeah... me too,” he nods, still smiling, honest and perfect and beautiful.

I wish everything I said could make him smile like that.

But I’m working on it.